Buffy vs The Count
by Anna Queen
Summary: BtVS-Sesame Street crossover. No, really! Set after LMPTM. Has Buffy finally met her match? And as she grapples with her most challenging opponent yet, can she learn the lesson of her life? Prepare for a very wicked take on the Buffyverse...;) B&S.


Buffy vs The Count   
  
_They're counting on me to be here_. She's gonna repeat that mantra to herself as many times as it takes. It's not like she _wants_ to come back, but then, it's not like the students can get by without her. Besides, if she stops at home another moment in Tension Central she might end up rewriting Clause 53 of the Slayer Handbook. The one about not killing your watcher? Not gonna look so good in front of the bit-slayers. _His_ name for them, not hers. Also, she is kinda running out of excuses to hide out in the basement. The whole 'you want a band-aid for that? We have Snoopy ones' moment wasn't exactly one of her best. And she's spent so much time down there these last two days she's starting to feel like she's moving in. Mr Strong-and-Silent might have something to say about that, of course. Not like him to keep his mouth shut, but then most things are different lately. God, when did she start _wanting_ him to tell her everything? _Concentrate, Buffy_. Right now she has to focus on - _What the -_ "Hell-o? This is _my_ desk." What is this? Two days off and now she's replaceable? He looks familiar. Unless it's just the chair that looks familiar. Familiar in an _I_-sit-there sort of a way. "Please, have a seat." _Have a seat?_ Now he's stealing her lines, and that one took her three weeks to get right. "I'll have _my_ seat, thank you very much." He doesn't move. Which, somebody might just wanna point out to him, is not the traditional reaction to Command Voice. "Are you the First? Because, hey, so pissing me off right now. Which is, you know, good for you, because that's what you do." Wait for it. "That's all you do." Hold on tight now, motivational speech zone straight ahead. "And hey, I might just go sit right there in my seat because I'm guessing it'll take the both of us. I don't know about you but go-through-able works out nicely for me. " Ohmigod, now she sounds like she's hitting on him. That's it, seduce the Great Incorporeal Evil. That'll work. "I am not the First." OK, the _not_-sitting-on-his-lap? Good choice. "I am not the first. I am not the second. Neither am I the third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, the seventh - " She's getting the picture. "So you're not so high in the Big Bad stakes. But hey, not a problem because you know what? You're doing just fine on the about-to-be-kicked-out-of-my-seat scale." "I am the one. The one and only. The one and only Count. Do you know why they call me the Count? Because I _love_ to count! A-ha-ha-ha!" Lost for words isn't something she's had a lot of practice at, but right now she feels like she has it down to a fine art. "I am the new _Count_-selor! A-ha-ha-ha!" OK, now _that_ is a pun straight out of the Buffy school of one-liners, and it's bad enough that he's taken her chair and her job and her most balancey pencil. She has to admit, though, it made her smile. There was definitely something about the timing. And after all, it's not like he's unattractive. Purple, but definitely the better end of the spectrum, as purple goes. Oh god, what is it with her and the vamp hall of fame? Damn thrall, that's what it is. Dracula. The Count. William the Bloody. William the Bloody that she came home last night to find washing the dishes. Not exactly a thrall overload. Except - maybe he thinks she doesn't see it, but she does, and she feels it too - the way the muscle tenses across his back, like a catch of breath, every time she walks into the room. Only he doesn't breathe. And then the apron. So damn hot in an apron. And like, _how_? Now is not a good time to be thinking about aprons. There are matters at hand that need addressing. "So what, you're taking over my job, just like that?" "Oh, _that's_ who you are." Maybe she's just imagining it, but she's not detecting a whole lot of awe there. A little mutual thrall wouldn't hurt. "Well you should know that the principal is deranged. I mean, only like two days ago he tried to kill my - " Tried to kill my what? Boyfriend, was that really what she was going to say? Ex-boyfriend? But then, _never_ her boyfriend. So, ex-not-boyfriend. But that would make him her boyfriend. It's complicated. And right now she's not gonna sit here and explain, for all the Count's looking at her like he'd be interested to know. "I think you have issues, Ms Summers." "Hey, at least I have legs." Whoops. Didn't mean to say that. It's not like he _needs_ legs, after all. The top half of him has that whole thrall thing going for it and his cloak is shiny. "You think I don't have legs? I have legs. Ornamental legs only, of course. Here - see? Two legs. You can count them." "You know what? I'll pass." "One, two legs. Two lovely legs! A-ha-ha-ha!" OK, _that_ is really pushing it. "You're calling _those_ ornamental? Wanna see these, pretty boy?" It's a Slayer thing. The heightened leg flexibility. It's not everybody can manoeuvre four-inch-heels on top of a desk and not so much as lift a finger. Not that fingers exactly come into it. Oh God, _it's a Slayer thing._ And that would be exactly what she said the last time somebody asked her the leg question. She hasn't forgotten who. "Shall we count the legs together? You want to count _all_ the legs?" This whole conversation is not turning out the way she planned. Last time she checked leg counting wasn't in the line of Slayer duty, but then, last time she checked Slayer duty wasn't so much a line as a rockface, and she could do with a little light relief. "One, two, three, four legs! Four marvelous legs!" She's ready to go round again, but with the kind of flourish that spells out exactly why he's the one wearing the cloak, he and his half of the legs are up and out of the game. "Where are you going?" "I will get the Principal. We can count his legs too." Really not such a great plan. "The Principal's lucky if he still _has_ legs." She's not gonna wait around and tell him that, though. "Look, I should go. I have unfinished business with the First - don't!" She can see exactly where that's heading, and she is not going to be coerced into any more counting if she can help it. _If_ being the operative word. She can feel her self-control wavering, and it doesn't help that he's looking at her with such unblinking sympathy under those strangely magnetic eyebrows. "The First?" That's hers too, the repeat-the-last-two-words interrogation technique. If she didn't know better she'd say he'd been studying secret footage of her in action. But then, like anyone could film her without her knowing? Never gonna happen. "It's kind of a long story. I died, I came back, the First got loose, and now we're all waiting on the Apocalypse." "The Apocalypse?" He's doing it again. She should have patented it while she had the chance. "Well, we try not to use the word 'the'. Because, hey, '_the_ Apocalypse', that would mean the end of the world. Obviously. And this is just an apocalypse. Another one. One of many." "How many have there been?" "I don't know. Six, maybe? Seven? More? It depends what you count as an apocalypse." "One, two, three, four - " Oh god, how can she have seen six, maybe seven, impending apocalypses and still not see this coming? "- five, six, maybe, seven apocalypses! Seven almost apocalypses! A-ha-ha-ha!" He looks thoughtful. "How long were you dead for?" "A hundred-and-forty-seven days." She's not going to forget that, is she? Not because _she_ counted them. Not really big with the time thing, up there in the celestial realm. No, she remembers because of him. Remembers the way he made her feel. Remembers how strong his fingers felt, how small hers were against them. Remembers the light in his eyes. And the world was so dark then, so dark, and so cold, and there he was, a _vampire_ for heaven's sake, her light and her warmth. Her sunlight. OK, _now_ what is he doing? "...fifty-seven. Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine..." Heaven. It's not like she really remembers it now. There's a whole lot that's happened since, a whole world of lot, and the rest besides. But there's this tiny question that plays at the back of her mind, sometimes. What they did - what she did, with him - did she do it to forget heaven? To feel anything but loss, and emptiness, and longing for the rightness and the wholeness she'd left behind? Because sometimes that silly little voice right at the back of her head says that maybe, just maybe, she did it to remember. "...one hundred-and-forty-four. One hundred-and-forty-five. One hundred-and-forty-six. One-hundred-and-forty-seven. One hundred-and-forty-seven days!" Thank God Willow got her out when she did. A week more and the Count might just have found his head wasn't the only thing that flipped right back. If he'd got past one-fifty she would seen to it that his counting days were over, thrall and all. He's still looking at her, for all the world oblivious to any danger she might present. "And then what?" That surprises her. "What do you mean?" "What happened next? After the one-hundred-and-forty-seven days? The one, two, three, four - " Suddenly she feels this overwhelming compulsion to tell him everything. Maybe it has a lot to do with it being easier not to kill him if she's the one doing the talking, but before she can stop herself, it's all starting to come out. And not just starting, either. Because once she gets going it turns out there's a lot to say, and he sits, and listens, and for a long, long time, doesn't say anything at all. "...I told him I was using him, and he says, "really not complaining here", and he just looked at me like - oh, god, it was - I mean, I - and then I said that it was killing me, and I told him I was sorry, and I left. What are you laughing at?" "Five hours! A-ha-ha-ha!" "What?" "One, two, three, four, five hours!" Oh god. What has she said? "One, two, three, four, five hours straight! Five hours!" "Stop it!" "One, two, three, four, five hours straight! A-ha-ha-ha! Five beautiful hours!" "You are one step away from a staking, do you know that?" She's not too sure about the staking threat, really. He doesn't look entirely dustable. More likely to leak foam, or spring a loose wire. "I'm sorry. I can't help it. I _love_ to count." She had sort of picked up on that. But then, she isn't the Slayer for nothing. "Look, I have to get home. The girls need to go through some stuff." "How many are there?" "Um...couldn't say exactly. I lost count." "You lost count?" Oh, please no. "It's no big. Giles has a list somewhere." "You want me to come and count them for you?" Unbelievable. "OK, now that is the lamest offer I have had since...since Principal Payback with his 'I'd like to take you out for dinner and take out your boyfriend for afters.' Boyfriend. The Count opens his mouth like he's going to ask, so she gets in first. "He is not my boyfriend." She looks straight at him. "He is the man that changed everything for me, turned his world on its head for me and keeps my world going round when everything else around me stops." It all comes out in one breath, so fast that's she's finished almost before she realises she's begun. "And how many times have you told him that?" She doesn't need to hear this right now, not from him. "One? Two? Three? Four? Five? Six?" "Will you stop already!" The truth is she could tell him a hundred times, and she'd never get close, never get anywhere near to saying it all. Maybe there aren't enough words anyway. "I can't talk about this now. I have to go." She gets up, and goes over to the door. But when she gets there she stops for a moment, and turns back round to face him. "Look, I'm not saying my life is perfect. I'm not saying I get everything right. But I sure as hell know one thing." She doesn't know that he's listening, and maybe she's just talking to herself now, but she says it because she has to, because it feels right, like it's the thing that's gonna get her through it all, whatever that might turn out to be. "I know who counts."  



End file.
